


Undercover

by Dracoduceus



Series: Tastes Like Yellow [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Background Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Crack Treated Seriously, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Undercover, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 15:23:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20695754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracoduceus/pseuds/Dracoduceus
Summary: Sent undercover in a quiet suburb, Mercy and Pharah didn't expect to find anything too excited...except for watching these two gay peacocks, their assigned "husbands", trying to one-up each other.Unlike virtually everyone else on base, they didn't have a betting pool going...but theydidenjoy tormenting the two of them. They told themselves that it was because it would help them get their heads out of their asses but actually...well, it was just really,reallyfunny.





	Undercover

**Author's Note:**

> This is all because I spoke to [IchigoWhiskey](https://twitter.com/ichigowhiskey) about wanting to write fake dating with McCree and/or Hanzo being paired with someone else and the other becoming a jealous wreck.

Fareeha sipped her tea and watched the two men outside. The double-paned windows muffled the sound of their chatter to the sound of a gentle murmur.

“How have you been?” Angela asked from across the table, also looking through the bay windows. “I see that Dan’s been busy in the yard.”

Unable to help it, Fareeha laughed. “Like a madman!” she said. “I came home from work one day and found that he had filled the bed of his truck with enough flowers to put a florist to shame. He probably cleared out one of the nearby greenhouses, I swear.”

“It’s so sweet,” Angela told her with a grin. “Susumu has been doing the same. I mentioned that I liked to read in the bay window in the kitchen—” she nodded at the one they were looking out, as their houses were identical in their layout. “—and he built me a reading nook and then lined the outside with bushes and a trellis for the roses.”

Their wrist comms, disguised as fitness trackers, beeped twice—Athena’s scans hadn’t picked up any listening devices.

“Do you think they realized what they’re doing?” Fareeha wondered.

Angela snorted and sipped delicately at her tea. “I highly doubt it. They’re both idiots when it comes to those dreaded Feelings.”

Unable to help it, Fareeha laughed and toasting Angela with her teacup, took a long sip of her own tea. “On the plus side,” she pointed out. “_We_ get to capitalize on it.”

Angela hummed. “Hanzo is really good at massages,” she said with an almost dreamy smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever been quite so relaxed.”

“Think I could get one?” Fareeha asked wistfully. “My back’s been a solid knot since Basic. The Raptora’s not exactly light either.”

“Perhaps,” Angela murmured, casting a coy glance at the other woman. “But I _like_ those big muscles.”

Fareeha flushed and nearly choked on her tea. She poured them both more from the pot and cleared her throat. “Big they may be, but they’re still knotted like rocks. They could use some loosening up.” She jumped when she felt Angela’s toes trail teasingly up her shin. “Do you recommend something, _doctor?_”

“A good bit of relaxing would do you good,” Angela purred.

They were interrupted as the sliding door slid open. Predictably, Hanzo had already taken off his sweat-damp shirt and was using it to mop the sweat from his face.

Even more predictable was the way that McCree was staring.

“Hey, boys,” Angela said. “Hot out?”

Hanzo rolled his eyes. “I think I need to put sunscreen on if I go out for more than five minutes at a time.” He had a hint of pink on his nose and cheeks, but it was difficult to tell if it was a blush or a hint of sunburn; it could even be both.

“Yeah,” McCree said dumbly. “Hot.”

“You should be doing that anyway,” Angela scolded without heat. Unlike most on base, Hanzo and Mei were the best at remembering to put sunscreen on.

Hanzo made a face. “I know dear, I’m sorry.”

After weeks of undercover, the endearment was almost reflexive and Angela enjoyed seeing how much it made McCree’s teeth grind. She sipped her tea. “Put your shirt back on,” she told him and figured that she may as well throw them both a bone, even if it was as much for her and Fareeha’s amusement than their immediate assistance. “You can’t be walking around shirtless again. What will the neighbors think?”

Fareeha snorted and hid her mirth behind her teacup.

“I got a shirt you can borrow,” McCree offered, just as Angela knew he would. She and Fareeha traded glances as they struggled to hide their amusement. “I may as well change, too.” They disappeared down the hall.

“What a pair of idiots,” Angela murmured.

“Both brilliant in their own way,” Fareeha sighed. “You should see them playing chess together. But now they act dumber than a sack of rocks. Men.”

They both shared a quick smile as Hanzo and McCree returned. Unsurprisingly, McCree’s shirt didn’t fit Hanzo very well, drawing tight enough across his chest that Angela was fairly certain that she could see the lines of each of his muscles and the barbell piercings in his nipples.

“Don’t flex,” Angela murmured. “You might rip that shirt.”

It was a hideous shirt anyway but by the way that McCree bit his lip and looked away, it looked like the mere suggestion was enough to make him nearly come in his pants.

_Men_.

Hanzo made a face. “I’ll endeavor not to,” he said with mock gravity. “It would be a shame to ruin such a terrible shirt.” Angela was fairly certain that the choice had been deliberate, even if the design was stretched to the point that it was nearly illegible.

A cowboy on a bucking bronco; the words _Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy_.

Angela and Fareeha traded glances and struggled not to laugh.

“I was just telling Fareeha that you give wonderful massages, Hanzo,” Angela told him. “You know your anatomy well.”

Fareeha choked.

“It was another way to hide,” Hanzo demurred. “And an easy way to explain my…” he gestured to his chest and arms.

“The gun show?” McCree suggested. He gave Hanzo a cocky smirk. “But did you walk the walk?”

“I never understood that phrase,” Angela confided quietly to Fareeha. “It’s so strange.” Fareeha shrugged.

Unsurprisingly, Hanzo’s competitive streak came out. “I would offer to prove it to you, but I believe my services have already been promised to another.” He smiled at Fareeha and evidently his time with Angela broke him of his tendency to smile like he was in pain. “I’m sure the Raptora armor is heavy and uncomfortable. I’m more than happy to offer my services if you have back and shoulder pain.”

For a moment Fareeha debated turning him down but these days her pride did her more harm than good. And if _Angela_ recommended Hanzo…

“If you don’t mind,” Fareeha agreed weakly. “But I doubt you can get rid of these knots.”

Hanzo gestured to his arms. “I’m not Reinhardt or Zarya, but I’m sure I can at least alleviate the pain. Let me get my table.”

“You’re _so_ gay,” Fareeha told McCree when Hanzo had left. “Gay and _useless_.”

“Ree,” he protested, casting a nervous look at Angela as if she didn’t already know.

Hanzo returned quickly, setting down what looked like a large briefcase that opened up into a padded table with a pillowed headrest. He did _something_ to it and it folded into a seat which he wiped down and lined with tissue paper. Then he gestured for Fareeha to straddle it and directed her to rest her face and chin in the headrest.

“Oh fuck,” Fareeha groaned as Hanzo pressed into the thick muscles of her shoulders.

“I told you,” Angela said smugly. “He’s _really_ good with his hands.”

She watched the muscles of Hanzo’s back move—he was still in McCree’s tight shirt—as he shifted and pressed down again on another tight muscle.

Fareeha made a breathy sound.

Looking at McCree, she found that he had taken a seat on the couch, and had shifted one of the decorative throw pillows into his lap. High thighs were pressed together tightly and his lip was held tightly between his teeth.

“I think this would be a good fundraiser,” she said as Hanzo walked his thumbs down Fareeha’s back. “Shirtless massages. It would solve our funding issues.”

Hanzo snorted. “We don’t _have_ funding issues,” he pointed out.

“If we did,” Angela persisted. “I’d suggest pimping you out.”

By now she knew that Hanzo would find this amusing instead of insulting and was proven right he laughed. “Ah,” he said and adjusted his grip on Fareeha. “Found it.”

Now she was moaning and groaning in earnest and McCree’s face was redder.

“Something _releasing_ about it, no?” Angela asked. “Massages.”

Hanzo snorted, most of his attention on the knot he had felt somewhere in Fareeha’s shoulders. “Release of lactic acid, sure,” he agreed distractedly. “And tension. There’s something soothing about it, too. It’s not something you do fast. It requires patience and precision.”

“Something that you have in spades,” Angela observed. She helped herself to more tea. “I am still in favor of pimping you out.”

“As your husband,” Hanzo teased. “I suppose that it is only fair.”

Angela laughed. “And I’m the distracted, ditzy kind of wife that probably wouldn’t notice if my husband made sure that his clients were _extra_ relaxed at the end.”

McCree somehow managed to look both mortified and incredibly turned on; Hanzo laughed. “I’ve had that request before,” he admitted, much to her surprise. “When I was hiding out. A few of my clients thought that my hands were just that good that it _must_ carry over to other pastimes.”

“I’m sure you were only professional,” Angela teased. “Imagine if word had gotten out. Although I’m sure that you’d never go out of business that way.”

“Then it would turn into literal pimping,” Hanzo replied. He shifted his arms again. “Ah, hold on.”

Fareeha’s resulting moan was outright pornographic.

And loud.

Angela watched McCree swallow, his eyes glued on Hanzo. He shifted in place and Angela and wondered if this would be the straw that broke the camel’s back or if he would just ruin the couch and whatever pants he was wearing.

Probably all of the above.

“Who knew that you gave such good massages?” Angela wondered absently, speaking a little louder over Fareeha’s pleased grunts and groans.

Hanzo chuckled. “Believe it or not, a lot. I’ve been teaching Brigitte on the side so that she can impress a certain someone.” He glanced at Angela and they shared a sly grin. Brigitte’s attempts to woo Hana was obvious to everyone except the two involved.

Almost like another pair of pining idiots.

“I help Reinhardt with his back pain sometimes, as well,” Hanzo continued. “There’s only so much that I could do though. But I figure that the Crusader armor hangs similarly to the Raptora, even though one is based on pitch and the other is longitudinal, if we put them in terms of aerial axes.”

Angela snorted. “I love it when you talk nerdy to me.”

How anyone could think this man had the personality of a chunk of granite was beyond her. She conveniently forgot that _she_ had been one of those people before she had gone on this mission with him.

Hanzo gave her a crooked smile and twisted his thumb in Fareeha’s muscles.

“How did you learn to give massages?” McCree asked in a strangled voice and Angela was surprised that he had any blood left in his head to speak.

“Anatomy lessons as a child,” Hanzo replied, voice going a little flat. “Knowing where the primary muscle groups are and where they exist in three dimensions was useful for massages as well as killing.” He gave a bitter laugh. “I suppose that if things had gone differently, I could have gone into medicine. Massage therapy was the closest I’d gotten.”

Angela smiled. “I like that mental image,” she laughed. “Dr. Hanzo. Paging, Dr. Hanzo.”

“I’m not a doctor,” Hanzo said slyly. “But I can take a look.” He gave Angela a wink that had her laughing hard enough that she nearly spilled her tea.

They fell into silence that was punctuated by Fareeha’s obscene moans.

“Are your patients always this loud?” Angela wondered.

Hanzo shrugged. “Not always,” he admitted. “Usually they’re only this loud when they’re trying to get me to give them a _happy ending_.”

“You decline of course.”

“Of course, my _darling wife_,” Hanzo told her dryly. “I would never cheat on someone as beautiful and radiant as you.”

Angela smirked. “Good answer. Because I know how to kill you in your sleep.”

“You know many ways to kill me, _light of my life_,” Hanzo replied with a little eye roll that Angela knew was there despite him facing away from her. “_Mi único sol_.” Angela wondered if that was how McCree died: choking on his spit at the sound of Hanzo speaking Spanish.

Unable to help herself, Angela laughed. “I’m imagining us as Mr. and Mrs. Smith—like that old American movie, do you know the one? Just casually trying to kill each other one day.”

“I’m sure you’d win.”

“Flatterer.”

Hanzo stepped away from Fareeha. “How do you feel?”

“Oh fuck,” Fareeha mumbled into the headrest. “I’m not sure I can move.”

“Mm,” Hanzo hummed in agreement. “I’ve heard that before.”

Fareeha blinked at them with a kind of glazed look in her eyes that Angela was familiar with. “What year is it?”

“Same year as it was when I started,” Hanzo said briskly though Angela could see him preening. “Don’t stand until you think you can manage it.”

“Holy fuck.” Fareeha let her head fall forward again and Hanzo chuckled. “Magic hands. I believe it.”

A little too casually, Hanzo checked his watch which doubled as his comm. “Ah, my dearest wife, it is nearly time for me to start dinner.”

“You spoil me,” Angela teased. “Perhaps we should put you on cooking rotation as well.”

“How about not?” Hanzo asked with a bland smile. “Do our neighbors want to join us for dinner?”

Angela latched on to the idea. “I think that’s a wonderful idea. We can let Grace recover and with Dan’s help we can get the massage chair back for you.”

Clearly Hanzo knew something was up but he didn’t comment on it. “I’ll adjust dinner plans, then. For those of use that are vegetarians, I will make the flatbread you like, dear.”

Despite her machinations, Angela sat up a little straighter. “The naan pizza?”

“With artichoke hearts,” Hanzo confirmed. “And goat cheese. I’ll make the quick-pickled shallots you like, too. For those that eat things with parents, I will make chicken paillard with lemon and tomatoes.”

McCree made an unintelligible noise from the couch.

Turning, Hanzo used his body to block his hand when he used their signals to tell Angela, _open window_. She tipped her head up and Hanzo kissed her nose with more gentility than she was used to.

Even though they’d been “married” for a month.

She sighed as he left and smiled smugly at McCree. For the first time in a long time, McCree looked _angry_. “You should get your head out of your ass,” she advised him. “He’s a great kisser.”

There was a _pop_ as his prosthetic hand ripped the upholstery on the couch. Fareeha jolted to alertness at the noise and immediately began scolding him.

* * *

“I want a divorce,” Fareeha decided as they walked next door. “Dan, we’re getting a divorce. I want to marry Susumu.”

“_Grace_,” McCree whined as he hauled the massage chair. It bumped against his shins and he cursed. “But you _love_ me.”

Angela sighed wistfully. “Only if I agree to divorce him,” she pointed out. “I’m quite attached to him. Someone that cooks _and_ cleans _and_ gives me such wonderful massages? _And_ plants a garden just because I said that I like one of our windows?” she shook her head. “No chance.”

“You can have Dan,” Fareeha suggested magnanimously. “We can trade. He does most of that except he doesn’t do the massage part. His cooking isn’t terrible, either.”

“I’m right here, you know,” McCree pointed out.

Angela hummed. “He _is_ easy on the eyes as well,” she teased. “But his cooking being ‘not terrible’ doesn’t mean that it’s good.” She opened the door. “Honey, I’m home.”

The house smelled wonderful and McCree felt his stomach churn with jealousy. When Hanzo stepped out, still dressed in his worn tee with an apron that said “I’ll Feed All You Fuckers”, McCree felt his heart do a few flips.

“Ah,” he said and kissed Angela’s cheek. “We have _guests_ for dinner. Why don’t you take Dan and Grace downstairs to the wine cellar and have them pick something out?”

McCree tried not to let jealousy eat at him. He knew that Angela wasn’t into men, much less Hanzo, but it was still hard to see. Especially since he didn’t know if _Hanzo_ was gay. He sighed and Fareeha elbowed him.

“Got your table,” he said a little churlishly.

He received a strange look from everyone at that. “Just put it on the side,” Hanzo said in a strangely clipped voice.

“Come on, Dan,” Angela urged and he sighed, putting down the table and following her to the cellar door, which was disguised as a pantry closet in the kitchen. He followed Angela into the cool cellar and watched, concerned, as she locked the door behind her.

Angela walked down the stairs as if this were any other visit and flipped on the lights; a moment later they heard the crash of splintering wood and the muffled _pif-pif-pif_ of silenced rounds.

“I guess they’ve caught on to our ruse,” Angela said casually. “This way; unless you brought your armor with you?”

It was a rhetorical question; McCree’s armor was too bulky to hide under civvies, and Fareeha’s Raptora armor would only be a hindrance here so she hadn’t brought it at all. Angela led them to a small crate which she opened to reveal black BDUs. Another crate held her Valkyrie armor and Angela began to quickly strip down to her bodysuit and suit up in her gear.

Above them they could hear the stomp of booted feet and the sounds of breaking furniture.

McCree yanked on the padded gear, fear making him fumble with it for the first time in a long, long time. “Weapons?” he asked.

Wordlessly, Angela nodded toward another wooden crate as she adjusted her staff. She was nearly finished dressing, as was Fareeha who began to dig through the crate for weapons and gear.

McCree found a handgun that didn’t have the comforting heft of Peacekeeper and loaded up with extra magazines. Fareeha took one as well and found two semiautomatics, one of which she handed to McCree.

Before they could stop her, Angela spread her Valkyrie wings and climbed halfway up the stairs. “Susumu?” she called up the stairs toward the door. “Darling, are you alright? We heard some banging. Did you fall?”

McCree scrambled up the stairs, gun at the ready.

“It’s alright,” Hanzo said, voice muffled by the door. “I just stubbed my toe.”

Evidently this was a code of sorts because Angela nodded and climbed quickly up the rest of the stairs, thrusting the door open.

There was a soft chiming in the air as her healing beam attached and then she darted away. McCree followed with more reservation, Fareeha following and covering his blind spot.

Then they both stopped. There were bodies _everywhere_. Most had some kind of silverware sticking out of their bodies.

“Did you snort cocaine or something?” Angela was scolding. Hanzo laughed and Fareeha and McCree moved quickly toward the living room. “Bath salts?”

“Just natural adrenaline,” Hanzo said and grunted as a bullet clattered to the ground, the wound thrusting it out as Angela healed it with her staff. He was covered in blood from fingertips to elbows, and the apron and the front of McCree’s shirt was splattered in more of it. “Ah, McCree. I’m sorry about your shirt. Do you think there’s any saving it?”

Angela made a disgusted sound. “Just burn it,” she advised. “It’s a terrible shirt and I’m sure you’ve stretched it past its limits. _And_ you got shot in it. It’s ruined. Let the damn thing die.”

“She’s just mad that Jess was able to wear it since he was a twink in Blackwatch,” Fareeha said. “You okay?”

“Well enough,” Hanzo agreed. “Shall we leave? Our drop ship is en route—ETA fifteen, so long as aerial reinforcement doesn’t come before then.”

“_Sooner,_” Athena assured them through the portable speakers near the TV screen which had somehow escaped unscathed.

McCree’s comm buzzed against his wrist and he looked down at it as a marquee message scrolled past:

_[From: Athena]: video.mp4 You’re so gay. You’re welcome_

Grunting, Hanzo stretched and the shirt stretched even more obscenely over the defined muscles of his chest and arms and McCree felt his mouth go dry. “Come on,” he said, trying not to walk funny in his arousal. “Let’s get out of here.”

* * *

Much later, after retrieving Peacekeeper and Fareeha’s gear, after getting on the drop ship and showering, changing, and debriefing, McCree locked himself in his room and opened the video that Athena had sent.

It was Hanzo, moving swiftly and silently through the house like a hunting cat. The shadows cast by the shirt he wore defined the muscles of his upper body, honed by years of fighting and archery. He was fighting men in black BDUs that wore Talon insignias but somehow they couldn’t land a shot on him. They all fell before him.

McCree’s mouth went dry and he suddenly felt lightheaded as his blood immediately rushed south. He had just stripped his too-tight jeans off and was about to remove his boxers when someone knocked.

Cursing, he paused the video feed and opened the door, intending to tell them to get lost. Seeing who it was, he froze.

It was Hanzo.

Hanzo’s hair was still damp from the shower and the shirt he wore was not much better than the one he had borrowed from McCree earlier that day. McCree thought that he could almost hear the seams straining.

“Ah, McCree,” Hanzo said. “I find myself…restless. I was wondering if you wanted to spar with me.”

Then he paused and seemed to take in McCree’s appearance. The video feed.

His discarded pants.

The flush on his face.

“I am in need of something to exhaust myself,” Hanzo said very carefully. His eyes were half-wild with the battle high that McCree could sympathize with. The kind that made you jittery, made your hands shake; it was as if you were drugged and Hanzo’s eyes were dark with it.

Or something like it, something that made McCree’s mouth run dry.

“You know what I’m talking about, right?” Hanzo asked very seriously and took a careful step so that his body filled the opening in the door. “Am I reading this wrong?”

“_God_,” McCree hissed and grabbed at the waistband of Hanzo’s pants, dragging him into the room. “I fucking hope not.”

He closed and locked the door behind Hanzo and confirmed that indeed, Hanzo’s hands were fucking magic.

**Author's Note:**

> Love it? Hate it? 
> 
> Feel free to come and yell at me about it on Twitter at [Dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus). There, I occasionally post snippets and blurbs and announcements of what is posting and where. 
> 
> As always, thanks for making it to the end! I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> ~DC


End file.
